


Words

by through_shadows_falling



Series: Supernatural Ficlets [38]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother Feels, Dean's selective mutism, Gen, Muteness, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Season/Series 10 Finale, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:19:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/through_shadows_falling/pseuds/through_shadows_falling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s brother was not a man of many words.</p><p>Selective mutism appeared to be Dean’s way of coping when things got bad, just like his false bravado, like his alcoholism.</p><p>Which was why Sam wasn’t shocked when, after the Mark of Cain was finally gone and the Darkness was unleashed, Dean got quiet. Back at the bunker, he’d grunt, he’d nod, and he’d point, but he wouldn’t speak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words

Sam’s brother was not a man of many words.

When he was a kid, Sam had heard from his dad that Dean didn’t speak for months after the fire that killed their mom. And when Sam got older, he started to recognize the pattern for himself. Selective mutism appeared to be Dean’s way of coping when things got bad, just like his false bravado, like his alcoholism.

Which was why Sam wasn’t shocked when, after the Mark of Cain was finally gone and the Darkness was unleashed, Dean got quiet. Back at the bunker, he’d grunt, he’d nod, and he’d point, but he wouldn’t speak. 

Sam didn’t pressure him. He knew to wait it out. Dean was still readjusting. His voice would return eventually.

He consulted Castiel about it, out of Dean’s earshot. Castiel not only knew, but understood, of course. He had a way of just  _getting_ Dean that Sam never would, no matter how close they were as brothers.

Castiel, Sam hoped, would be the turning point for Dean’s recovery. They’d freed the angel from Rowena’s spell, and now he was crashing at the bunker. Permanently.

Sam wasn’t blind, and he knew his brother perked up whenever Castiel was around, so it seemed to go hand and hand that Castiel would be the one to get him talking again. Sam was glad that he’d grown enough to not be bitter about that. It was good that they both had someone else in their lives, besides just each other. Castiel was family, and maybe something more for Dean.

And while Sam was happy that Castiel was around, he had to say he was shocked when, two weeks after their confrontation with Death, Dean appeared at the door to Sam’s room and spoke three incredible words.

“We gotta talk.”

For a second, Sam wasn’t sure he heard right. Dean was speaking again. And his brother  _wanted_ to talk. It was an incredible breakthrough.

They obviously had a million things to talk about, but after constant deflections and shut-downs, Sam had given up. He’d even started repressing his feelings, just like Dean, and though it ate at him, part of him was also relieved. He actually…didn’t want to talk, no matter how happy he was to hear Dean speaking again.

“Um. Yeah, okay. About what?” Sam asked. He gestured for Dean to come in, and his brother joined him on his bed. They sat apart, about a foot of space between them.

Dean didn’t say anything, though he appeared to be gathering courage. Sam took the moment to really take in his brother’s appearance.

The Mark had done a number on him. Dean was haggard and pale, with dark shadows under his eyes. Sam knew he’d been experiencing nightmares, had even heard Dean scream once in the middle of the night, but Castiel was always the first to get to him.

Dean looked like he could sleep for another century, though. And if Sam were honest, so did he. But the Darkness was his fault, and he had to fix yet another of his apocalyptic mistakes.

God, it was just a never-ending cycle with him, wasn’t it?

“You thought I was gonna kill you,” Dean said at last, and Sam startled. The room had been so quiet and still, he’d almost forgotten Dean was there.

“Um,” Sam said, because really, how was he supposed to respond to that?

It was true.

Sam had fallen to his knees fully expecting Dean to kill him. Not only that, but he’d secretly yearned for it. He was just…so tired. Tired of good intentions gone bad. Tired of trying to do the right thing but failing over and over only to make everything worse. Tired of the burdens placed on his shoulders. Tired of watching good people die.

He just wanted it to be over.

It’s not that he wanted to die. He just…wanted to stop living. There was a difference. And clearly the world would be better off without him. Just look at what he had done.

Death had been absolutely right that Sam needed to be out of the picture. Both he and Dean had done stupid things to save each other, stupid things that doomed the world. It just made sense for Sam to be dead.

And dying at Dean’s hands? Honestly, Sam couldn’t imagine a greater death.

“You…wanted me to kill you,” Dean said, because right, Dean was still in the room. Sam was surprised he hadn’t run yet. They were about to embark on some serious emotional territory, and for the first time Sam could remember, Dean wanted to talk about it, and Sam didn’t.

“Dean, I can’t…” Sam started. He paused to draw in a breath. “I can’t do this right now. I’m sorry.”

“Well we’re gonna. You wanted to die.”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Do I even need to go into the reasons? Isn’t it obvious?” Sam asked.

“No. It’s not. Spell it out for me.”

“Why is this so surprising to you?” Sam asked, deflecting. “You know how I felt about the trials. How I still feel about them.” He had been prepared to finish them, to give his life to close the gates of Hell forever.

“I don’t want you to die, Sam,” Dean choked out. “I can’t just let you–”

Sam’s chest ached at the brokenness of his brother’s voice as he cut off. Dean opened and closed his mouth, grunting out frustrated noises, until he snapped it shut.

Dean glared at him with a look that clearly meant,  _This isn’t over_.

Sam offered him a weak smile. “I know, I know. But thanks. For trying. I just can’t talk about it yet. Well, I don’t  _want_  to talk about it yet. But I will, someday. I just need more time.”

Dean nodded. He sighed and clapped a hand on Sam’s shoulder as he stood.

“I’m glad you’re talking again,” Sam said.

“Me, too,” Dean said, and he disappeared out the door.

In the hallway, Sam heard Dean and Castiel murmuring, and smiled to himself.

At least something good had come of this mess.


End file.
